"Bewitched"

I looked at my brother in dismay. I could see him struggling to keep a straight face. The prospect of laughing out loudly was quite overwhelming for my idiotic, thug-ish, but infinitely admirable elder brother. I could see my mother watching me apprehensively. She needed someone to accompany her to the music concert held at her ex-boss’s residence. Devoted though she was to her ex-boss, she was determined not to appear alone to the concert. As usual, I was forced to do my brother’s bidding, and he could wander around in the evening, flanked by his massive sidekicks, vandalizing anything within their grasp.’ why is it always me’?, I asked myself. ‘There will be no answer to the question’, I assured myself. This drama is not completely new. I was subjected to such torture since I was seven.
“Do you see something here? This isn’t the first time I am forced into something”, I shot out before I could stop myself. My brother fidgeted involuntarily. I ignored him.
“All I want from my sons is a little concern, and it couldn’t be clearer, can it?
My mother’s voice quivered, but her eyes were full of malice, and I could see the explosion a few words away. ‘Two hours in hell, and you’re free for the day’ I thought, trying to induce some cheeriness in it. But it didn’t work. All I could see is skin-piercing boredom looming ahead.
“All right, I will come”, I managed, searching for the suitable swear word to use upon my brother, but words failed me. My brother was grinning at me broadly; the wickedness back in his eyes, but my unsuspecting mother blessed me and bustled off to change.
The drive to Mr.PVN’s house was short but excruciatingly painful, as my mother kept trying to say something pleasing about the concert. But she was turning matters from bad to worse. “Every distinguished guest is well-learned and experienced in their own fields “, she was looking at me expectantly “and unique”, she added as if that would change my sulky attitude.
“Nice try, but it wouldn’t work. I will stand beside you like a pillar, and that’s all’, I was surprised to see the slight edge in my voice. My mother looked affronted and didn’t speak at all for the rest of the journey.

“And”, my mother talked without preamble, as we were walking along a street that had aesthetically built houses, their front gardens nicely pruned, high compound walls rose on either side of the houses. The rumbling and revving of the automobiles that sped on the main road were silenced as if a spell had been cast upon the lane. Moreover, there was no sign of inhabitance in most of the houses, no whining of an infant, no sound of ‘the immaculate bank manager’ who throws a tantrum for excess sugar in his evening tea. The silence was compelling, and an odd sense of foreboding grew inside me as we walked in silence. The first sign of life was a grief-stricken old man clutching a newspaper, peering at us behind lop-sided glasses. He looked at us for a couple of seconds and returned to his newspaper, looking bored. And I knew, in his perspective, that we deserved attention from a man like him for a few seconds only. The feeling of not being welcomed increased as I trotted along my mother, and she looked simply radiant.
“There’s this girl, Ragini Sree, who appeared in jaya TV. She is coming today to sing a few songs, great, isn’t it?
That hit me like a thunderbolt. All the sinister notions about this eerie lane were wiped off. In fact, the street looked quite charming, with its grandiose houses and gregarious inhabitants.
“When is she coming? I mean the time of her arrival. Are you sure she is coming?
How come Mr. Pvn got to know her? He must have pulled a hundred strings to get her”.
I was talking to myself as much as I talked to my mother. The prospect of meeting her had made me nervous. I could see my fingers were a little twitchy; I was smoothing my hair a little too often. Before I could regain my composure my mother was gravitating towards a house that looked splendid with its front lawn well mowed than any of the houses. There were a few foreign-looking cars parked in front of the house, and that made our way into the house a little difficult.
We walked past the Victorian iron gates and gravel cracked beneath our feet. Huge hedges obscured the fine house, and peacocks strutted gracefully on the hedges making me think of the houses of earls and bishops of the seventeenth century.
I had never set foot in a place like that. It was a fine looking manor painted white, so that it shone against the mild sunlight. The house was two storeyed and had a balcony facing the sloping front lawn. The lawn led to a thicket beyond which I couldn’t see any compound wall. I stood gaping like an idiot. My mother took no notice, as she was speeding towards a small cluster of people in the lawn.
‘What kind of man is Mr.pvn’? I asked myself. The house would have cost twenty crores, not to mention the lawn and the woods.
I shook my head vigorously, to get rid of the dreamy feeling. I walked towards my mother, who was hailed by her colleagues. They were having a reunion; I observed the bitterness in my thoughts. My mother was completely oblivious to my presence, I watched the merry crowd laughing and guffawing on the silliest jokes. In retrospect, I couldn’t think of a predicament as out of place as this one. I wished dearly to vanish from that spot. Being in a place that is totally unwelcome is something I had tasted, many a time. But I haven’t mastered the skill to look graceful, to smile at people whom I had never met, and to make barks of laughter when unknown people crack their so-called ‘golfer’ jokes. The urge to storm at my mother for putting me to such inconvenience was pounding in my ears. After a couple of minutes that contained an eternity, an old man with a pipe in his mouth was pointing at me. I flushed, rooted to the spot. Then I heard a tiny yelp, and I saw my mother beckoning frantically, waving her arms like a marionette. I walked towards my mother, feeling forty pairs of eyes on me. I wished my hair would stay put, as it was dancing with the blowing wind, falling on my eyes.
“This is my second son”, my mother pronounced, I could see a small flush of pride in my mother’s voice,”Bharani”; he’s studying third year in MIT”. There was a collective intake of breath at the word M.I.T. It is one of the compliments for studying in that wretched college. There was a faint trace of bewilderment beneath the look of condescension worn by my mother’s colleagues. They were caught unawares seeing something in a man who looked quite ordinary in appearance.
“Abdul kalam studied in your college, you know?, it was a very prestigious institution in those times. But I hardly hear about it nowadays. Maybe its students have other things in their minds right now”, said the man with the pipe, unfurling acrid smoke into the fresh air, his tone suggested that he had played poker with Abdul kalam when they were in their twenties, but I knew better. He gave a knowing, conspiratorial smile, as if inviting me to share the things I had in my mind. But all that I had in my mind was a cauldron full of hot scorn ready to be tipped on his bald head. ‘What made these ignorant fools to have foolish notions about someone they had never confided into? I had a mad urge to ask” you look very frail and thin, sir. Is it because you are grieving on your wife leaving you, or you smoke a pipe that’s weighs twice as much as you. But I repressed my tongue with a shudder, and grinned sheepishly at him.
They gradually lost interest in me and drifted off to one another, eying people who had the potential to tolerate stupidity, and I was happy that I had no tolerance for false- talks, especially the hollow laughs and the fits of laughter they were having so frequently drove me mad. I negotiated my way to my mother who was trying to make her grimace into smile, but failing miserably, as she was put to such torture by Mr. Pipe who entertained a small knot of people by emitting loud, rude sounds like air let out of a gas- balloon. His idea of a joke, I saw, was making a bad show. The audience was looking at him wearily, some with barely concealed grins, as he continued to look at them expectantly. I gripped my mother’s arm firmly, and bent low to reach her ear.
“I am going for a walk around the house. Don’t search for me. Give a missed call when everything is over”, I broke into purposeful strides, as fast as my slender legs could make it, before my mother could burst into a storm of protests. I looked back at her after walking a few yards. She was looking at Mr. Pipe with distaste etched all over her face. ‘Good for her’, I thought, grinning to myself. “She will think twice before accepting a party thrown by PVN.’

I meandered along the neat rows of trees, planted on a line that looked as if drawn by
a mason. The mild breeze was accentuated into gusts of wind by the nods and shakes of the willowy trees. I noticed the trees becoming more in number as I walked deeper into the forest.
The sunlight seeping through the leaves was weak and watery, as if pleading for its territory captured by the woods. There were plains and mounds that punctuated the mason’s line as I walked further, and then I realized that it looked twilight, but in actuality the time was four o’ clock in the evening. The trees had obscured the sun altogether, luring me into a false sense of time, the trees were towering than ever, and the ever-widening branches looked like the pulsing nerves on the back of the hand of an aged witch. As I walked further, the trees started to become fewer and sunlight became noticeable again, and a few metres ahead, I saw the sun reflected upon a glassy surface which looked like a mirror turned skyward. Then it became apparent that the mirror was a clear pond that was spread-eagled into an ellipse. The tall trees and the dappled sunlight played over the pond, making the scene like the painting of a precocious five year old boy. I had serious doubts about PVN, for owning a pond is something unprecedented. ‘Maybe, PVN has conveniently forgotten to raise a compound wall, so that naïve onlookers would believe that he owned this peace of admirable nature’ I thought to myself. I walked along the bank, and stopped to look at my reflection, maybe to talk to him, the only person who could reciprocate my feelings. For a fleeting second, I thought how paranoid I had become, to contemplate a conversation with myself. ‘Have you got any alternative to spend your time other than thinking how PVN has amassed such wealth’, I thought. The answer was quite obvious, and I gave myself the ‘go ahead ‘to talk to person waiting patiently in the water.

“This evening will add to my list of the most boring evenings”, I said to the reflection, but I noticed with a pang of unease that he spoke at the same time. Nevertheless, I put the
Thought out of my mind.
“Yeah, it sure will. Why don’t you add all the evenings to that list”, said the reflection, but this time, I failed to notice the lips of the reflection, instead I tried to make out what it said, and it struck me that, the reflection had a different notion about me as if someone else was talking to me, albeit his astounding resemblance. Encouraged by this, I carried on, suppressing the thought of how odd this man will look, talking to himself instead of drinking the scenic beauty of nature.

“Don’t say that, I’ve had some evenings when time seemed to fly, you know”, I said.
“Yeah I agree. But what happened to you. I should say you have changed. You were very happy-go-lucky those days. Things seemed to happen the right way a few years ago, but now you brood over things most of the time, like now. You become resentful and pessimistic most of the time. Any new opportunity goes amiss, if it comes to you. You have moved away from most of your friends, yet you blame them deep in your heart for deserting you. You simply seemed to spellbind girls whenever they talk a few words with you, but now you stare at them till they shy away like chickens or you gibber something incoherent that makes them to walk away muttering about time-wasters. My talk will be insincere if I say you were a child prodigy in school. But it is absolutely true to say that you were reasonably talented, quite engaging student for any teacher. You didn’t bag the topper award every year, but you were well known throughout the school, either for your witty remarks or your boyish appearance, and needless to say is your impish, carefree grin that captivated an appreciable number of girls. You viewed yourself as an enterprising and talented boy. Offers and suggestions fly at you from all directions, but you took your own way of doing things, which lead to nothing but victory You solved innumerous problems those days, be it math of logic. But now you become flustered whenever you approach a problem, making calculation errors that make ten year old midgets to leer at you.. You have entered into M.I.T, which isn’t a walk in the park, but you have failed to appreciate your achievements.. And now your exam performances are abysmal, and not to mention is that inevitable arrear that you’re dreading to materialize any moment... For you, speaking English came as fluent as a swooshing waterfall. But now, you stutter and splutter for words. In short, you have become a nobody in three years. Why? What went wrong?.” Said the reflection, panting with the effort, but his eyes were full of concern.

“I don’t know”, I paused. My throat felt constricted, and I knew it would normally be succeeded by tears. I glanced up the sky, the clouds very fighting a losing battle against the sun, trying to obscure it from the earth.” I just don’t know”, I completed to the reflection in a thoroughly defeated voice.
“Don’t worry”, said the reflection, and its soothing voice washed me with waves of relief. I never had the inkling to nurse the thought that the reflection was no one but me. I knew that the reflection was the positive force who had resided in me, but dormant all these years. He had waited patiently for me to excavate him.
“You’re the same person. You need to re-invent yourself all over again. It is not an easy process, but nowhere close to impossible. The mantra may sound so simple but unimaginably powerful. It is -

“Hello, are you talking to yourself”, said a female voice. My heart missed a beat. I closed my eyes instinctively, and my mouth stretched into a line as if to swallow a curse on myself. I could see the reflection at the back of my eye, and it was so real and inviting. Will I ever be able to talk to him, and he was so close to say some mantra to rejuvenate myself. . I knew I had made a fool of myself, not entirely new, but being close to tears and about to be leered at is a predicament no one would want. And it struck me that I cannot pretend to ignore this intruder completely. I hoped against reality, hoped against sensibility, and hoped against all reason, to the almighty that this intruder should be Ragini sree.I opened my eyes reluctantly, still making my plea to god, and turned right towards the speaker.

And it was Ragini sree.

Time stood still, waiting for me to comprehend the fullness of her presence, her pink fingers clutching one another, her handbag dangling from her narrow shoulder, and the gold chain she was wearing lay twisted over her prominent collar bone. I looked at her face, and my heart started banging against my ribs like an insolent prisoner, raging against the jailers for freedom. ‘Just like the movies… just like the movies ‘, said a fervent voice in my head. ‘They do not exaggerate at all’. Her hair was a shock of undisciplined curls pouring out in all directions, culminating on her shoulders, and a defiant strand flopped on her forehead inexorably. I had to exercise all my senses to keep myself from touching it. Her eyes were almond-shaped, just like lily potter, but there was a devilish glint hidden behind a screen (probably the so-called maturity) that attracted me in the earnest. She had a pert little nose and full lips that suggested that they had done a good deal of laughing and smiling than frowning.
She was wearing a saree, in honor of the occasion, and looked graceful, but a little uncomfortable in it. I realized that a few seconds had passed since her intervention, but I made no attempts to close my gaping mouth. I wished I could get a grip on myself, act as if she had come to deliver the message. I could have asked ‘what is it’ with a hint of irritation, but I knew that would never happen.

“Hello “, she stressed, as if talking to a deaf person. That brought me back to my senses. I could not afford to be an oddity in front of her. I noticed a curiosity in her eyes, as if watching an interesting animal in zoo, and adding to that she looked a little cautious, like regretting the act of interfering the sober moods of a lunatic.
“What is it? I asked. I intended to sound bothered, but it sounded passionate, almost eager. She didn’t seem perturbed by my bad manners, if the truth is to be told, she turned inquisitive.
“I saw you talking to your reflection in that pond”, she pointed with a long, well manicured index finger. “But I didn’t hear you, what were you saying?”, she completed. There was genuine interest in her voice, as that of a software geek. I was immediately tempted to confide in her, maybe she could succor the mantra to bring back the old “me”, but I dismissed it as quickly as it came.
“I was singing”, I blurted out, and forced myself not to bite my tongue. ‘What a dumb answer’,
I thought with derision, and I tried my carefree grin, but the attempt failed, and I stood looking like I had a bad toothache
“Oh…”, she said, and comprehension dawned on her face. She knew I was not entirely truthful, and looked around the place awkwardly, as if she was tentative about the next move. ‘Any second she will politely deliver her goodbye and walk off, leaving you with no one other than your reflection ‘. As I thought this, my reflection flashed in my mind, as bright as the sun, as clear as the water in the pond. He wore a dazzling grin that reminded me of the old days, and spoke in a cool, confident voice which, I was sure, was unheard by ragini sree.
“Ask her what she is doing here, instead of singing for the people at the manor, be cool, and show genuine interest in your voice, but don’t overdo it, and the Most important thing is to be yourself, for the real you is more likeable than anything else .don’t worry, she won’t leave you now.”
It took a second for me to focus, as her saree color changed from pink to orange, the bright image of the reflection burnt in my eyes, like a dying fire.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were entertaining those people “, I said, my voice sounded a little hoarse, but cool.
“Well, I sang a few songs, but those idiots hardly listened to me. They were busy making business deals, or gossiping about some crap, and they tried to involve me in it. I couldn’t stand it any longer”, she spoke very fast, and I had to frown to get a few words.
“I just wish this day will end, and I will never accept to sing in parties like this”, she sounded a little livid, and I was apprehensive to talk something that will offend her.
“Yeah, they a bunch of snobs, and that’s why I came here. I just wanted to be left alone”, I said.
“Me too”, she said quickly, and I knew she was looking at me now, cool and calculating, I wished I had combed my unruly hair, and wearing a pair of jeans that looked too tight for a flute did not help matters..
“By the way, what’s your name”, she asked, with an air of authority,
“Call me bharani, and I am studying third year in college, and you rocked in that show in TV, brilliant”, I said with a touch of adoration.
“Thanks”, she said, looking at her feet, as if the most interesting object was her thumbnails, and bright pink patches appeared on her cheeks, adding splendor to her profile. ‘My god, she is blushing’, I thought feverishly, and looked at her cheeks for confirmation, they were pink. My brain was working in adrenaline, ‘she is blushing now, take advantage of the situation, say something nice’.
“You are a great singer, that’s why PVN has called you.” I said.
“Oh not that, my father worked under PVN a few years ago, that’s why”, she supplied, and I knew wooing her didn’t work out very well.
“My mother worked under PVN too, what is your father’s name? I asked. I had a pang that the conversation was veering off course, ‘but anything can happen in this evening’, I thought. For the recent happenings had forcibly reminded of Harry potter where the spiders talk and dragons fly.
“His name is Mani, and by any chance, is your house in Sixth Avenue, ashok nagar?”.
“That was my previous neighbourhood, and how did you know that”, I asked incredulously.
“Oh my god, I remember now, my father took us to your home when I was this small”, she kept her cupped hand near her narrow waist, to indicate a small child.
“We had a real fight over the cycle.” she said looking at me closely.
It came to me as a nostalgic vision. A big man with a ready smile, and his mousy wife entered the threshold and he started to laugh maniacally at the sight of my mother. It was their custom of greeting colleagues. A small girl with a lot of hair pouring on her face entered and made a beeline for the new bike which I had recovered from the deathly claws of my elder brother. I raged at her like an angry bull, and the elders laughed at this domestic scene with amusement. As anyone would guess, my brother sided with her, and I was no match for the both of them. She came charging at me with her devilish grin, and my brother did a good job holding my arms behind my back, while she yanked at my hair, till I broke down to tears. Her father intervened and pulled her apart, thundering jovially about how clever his daughter was, leaving my brother disappointed.
“You pulled my hair, and made me cry, didn’t you”, I said dreamily, and I was surprised to see that she too looked several miles away.
“Yeah, and I had a nagging feeling from the beginning, and you haven’t changed much”, she said.
“I will take that as a compliment”, I said.
She was smiling at me now, the prospect of pulling one’s hair and making him cry was her idea of amusement when she was seven. I didn’t despise her for that. In fact, I had a longing that she would pull my hair and make me cry. I am sure I would have loved that.
A few seconds of silence. We kept looking furtively at each other; all I needed was a spurt of idea, something solid and informative, and something that would involve her in deep discussions. I had a feeling of déjà vu, and I was a little less surprised this time to see my reflection flash again. This time he looked very business-like, as If the guidance he was giving me could earn him millions.
“She should be interested in something. Movies, books, concerts, it could be anything. Grab a topic you know the most. But be modest. Don’t start pirouetting about the books you have read, start with a low profile. I have a hunch that she likes Harry potter.”

“So, what are your hobbies”, I asked casually, and silently praying that she likes Harry potter.
“Well, I read a lot of books, and I am a Harry potter freak”,
I decided to thank my reflection, for his prophetic abilities, ‘his casual hunch has given me room for sensible talk ‘ , I thought frantically.
“Me too”, I cried, and I was happy that there was honesty in my voice.
“Oh that’s great, then answer this question, did you think Harry should die in the last part?
“If truth is to be told, I thought Harry should have died in the last part, it would have been a logical ending. If Harry survives, then voldemort dies, and that is not justice for the character of voldemort. The hype given for his powers, his prodigious skill, and his maniacal rage to kill Harry becomes nothing if Harry survives. “
“That is not sensible, Harry is extremely talented too. He grabbed the Gryffindor sword when he was twelve, defied voldemort a lot of times, and he could ward off dementors in his third year. J.k.rowling has given enough credentials to Harry as she has given to voldemort”.
I was thrown off guard by this sudden fierceness. She was all charm a few moments ago, and she looked all the more bewitching in her hostile demeanor. Instinct told me not to cower at this sudden confrontation. ‘That will make me spineless, a person who eats his words at the glare of a formidable person’. My reflection flashed in my mind, and I looked at him as unsurprised as an old man looking at the morning newspaper on his doorstep.
“That is right. Retort with more ferocity, but not without your touch of gallantry, and don’t forget to be sensible, or else you will make little difference to Mr. Pipe.”, said my reflection.
“Good god, I didn’t know you were this passionate about Harry potter. But perspectives do differ. If you’re intolerant to my views, then what is the point in having a discussion?
Harry potter wouldn’t fall in love with you just because you thought he would survive.” I said, and I stressed the word ‘intolerant’, so hard that she winced convulsively.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, ‘I had gone a little too far ‘, She looked at me for a couple of seconds; she was too shocked to make a retaliation. No one would have dared to accuse her of intolerance. Her stardom, her stunning appearance had diffused a little vanity in her, and her vanity had been punctured by a vagabond who talks to himself in the midst of a dense thicket. It was when the horrible thought of losing her came to me, she started to laugh.

It was not the blood-curdling sniggering of the blundering girl, who laughs for the last thing you, would call a joke. It was genuine, full of mirth, her beautiful teeth unveiled, and the sound of her laughter were like waves of ‘ well done’ washing over me.. Her eyes crinkled, squeezing tears out of them. She arched her back, and laughed out to the heavens. After what seemed like hours, she stopped laughing, mopping her eyes with the adorable pink kerchief she had. I could see a liking in her eyes, as you would see in the eyes of your mother, a feeling of bonhomie, as you would feel when you are with your close friend, a feeling of being cared for, as you would feel when you cry on the shoulder of your father for bad marks.
I could feel warmth and caring emanating from her. Was it because of me, or my joke, I did not know. I would not have been surprised if she had given me a hug, and making someone laugh loudly within a few minutes of acquaintance is something I haven’t done in the recent years.

An overwhelming feeling of euphoria possessed me as we walked along the trees, back to the manor. It was six o’clock in the evening, and the semi-darkness that prevailed in the woods did nothing to dampen my spirits. Having a beautiful girl beside you and walking in a forest is something that would make any person tremble with excitement, and I was no exception.
‘How theatrical will it be if a menacing wolverine blocks our way, its teeth bared, and it advances towards us with its claws unsheathed. Ragini sree lets out a small scream and cowers behind me as the wolverine towers above us, poised to strike. Before the animal could blink its eye, I will unveil a glittering sword from my back, and the slash of the sword echoes all the way into the forest. I will bring it down on its face, between its eyes with uncanny accuracy, and the wolverine is split into half. Immediately after this ghastly incident, Ragini sree cries on my shoulder and praises my bravery. I will shoo her down saying that wolverine-killing is my favorite sport.

“Are you listening to me or not? Give me your mobile number, if you have one”,

“Oh yeah, I have one”, I said, struggling to keep the exuberance in my voice to a bare minimum, I recited my number as she saved it. I was saved from the embarrassment of showing my mobile by the appearance of the daunting manor. People flecked the balcony like angry bees to show their gratitude to Mr.PVN for inviting them and praising him in mysteriously high tones for the rare solicitousness he shown, but PVN waved it away with a gesture of ‘ it was nothing’. He had a pot belly and thick graying hair. He had bushy eyebrows and a mustache that looked as if tamed to look like a handle-bar. His countenance gave him the air of a strict disciplinarian, but he was very fun-loving by nature, and the sly version of it to say that he is a party animal. There was an avalanche of goodbyes and ‘see you’s as the semi-drunk people waded their way out of the manor, and the goodbye mood did not do me any good. The prospect of parting with Ragini sree was unthinkable, and I risked a glance at her. She was talking to her mother, who was asking questions about her disappearance like the rapid fire round in a quiz competition. ‘She has forgotten me; I play no role in her life. I had made her laugh, given her a good time, discussed with her about Harry potter. And yet she had rated me no more than a stranger, just like a passerby who happens to be very useful in a long journey’. I was filled with despair, the familiar feeling I get every time when a girl suddenly turns indifferent.
“What is it? You look so troubled”, my mother asked as we got into the auto.
“What do expect from a person who had been subjected to such a torture”, I retorted angrily, making gestures like a deranged person. I felt my insides as heavy as lead, as the handsome manor drifted from my view. I could feel my mother’s eyes on me. And I knew it was pity. She pitied me for being such a weirdo. It was the worst torment any young man could suffer, being pitied by the person who should shower you with encouragement.

“Hello”, I said, as someone had called at twelve o’ clock in the night that day. ‘Who wanted to talk to me this badly’, I thought.
“Hello”, said a female voice. All my drowsiness was wiped off in a jiffy, for it was the voice that had interrupted me in my deepest reverie, the voice that had unleashed a roller-coaster of feelings in my stomach, the voice that had rekindled the past, the voice which I hoped will whisper sweet- nothings in my ear in the dead of the new year night in years to come, the voice that will spread euphoria right into my heart, the voice that will disperse warmth and concern like the song of a handsome phoenix.

Hearing her voice in the middle of the night is something that had bullied me into penning down my feelings, and that is what you’re reading now…..